It All Hurts
by everyone'ssister
Summary: Tag for 11.06 and 11.09 Amara leaves the asylum after Dean blacks out on the floor. When he wakes the absence of her soothing presence brings some painful memories back to life. Amara's hold on Dean is strong, but is Sam's stronger?


Because the mid season finale and winter hiatus left me with some miserable feels.

Spoilers for 11.06 and 11.09

IT ALL HURTS

Since the moment Dean had stepped into Amara's room in the old asylum, it had been like he was back in that field surrounded by her darkness. Like thick black velvet had been wrapped around all his senses, and muffled the cries of all the hurt and problems of his world. Everything faded away and that delicious, soft BLISS enveloped him and he could have fallen into her aura forever.

But one vivid reminder cut through her spell over him; Sam was fighting who knows how many demons off, and Dean had one job. Kill this girl, kill this evil. Sam trusted him, was counting on him, so he tried to clear his head and felt the outline of the knife in his coat...then Crowley came a calling.

Things got a little out of hand especially when Amara attacked Crowley, bargained for Dean's life and then they had a regular heart to heart. Then Sam busted through the doors and there they stood, confronting one another, balancing their wills, weighing the chance and outcome. A split second Amara seemed to ask him, who is this?

And Dean's reaction was purely hostile.

He saw the obvious shock on her face as he barreled towards her with his knife prepared to take her down, to stand between Sam and harm as his little brother lay out cold on the floor outside the door. She flicked her wrist towards him and it felt as if a sea of that soft blackness rammed into him, flinging him against the wall and to the ground. Her eyes, so alive and passionate, landed on him once more before she turned her back and walked away. His vision blurred and she disappeared from his sight, he felt her presence go, felt comfortable numbness leave his body replaced by cold awareness and then everything went black.

Sam slowly lifted his head from the cold concrete floor and shook it in hopes of clearing his vision. For once in his life luck seemed to be on his side, and the blurriness faded and soon he was seeing clearly. It didn't look like he had been out all that long, Amara was gone, Dean lay on the floor among the shattered remains of the mirror, eyes closed, a little blood on his temple. Sam frowned as he thought back to busting through the door only to find his bother and the darkness standing across from each other, staring into the others eyes, in what looked like all the world like a battle of wills. Then he had been there and he guessed Dean had gone after her after she had flung him from the room.

He struggled to his knees and from there the world spun a little, he spread his hands flat on the ground and squeezed his eyes shut...he had to make it up if only to where Dean was lying, just make sure he was okay. Slowly he made to his feet, using the wall as a ladder, he stumbled slightly at his first steps and then righted and waited for the dizziness to subside and was pleased to find that he wasn't all that bad off, he would be alright, give him a few minutes.

But Dean was laying unconscious longer and longer, and that wasn't good or normal. Usually Dean could jump right back after a hit on the head, he carefully went back to his knees beside his brother and gently prodded Dean's neck until he found that sweet spot that broadcasted Dean's beating heart. With Dean's pulse strong Sam's worry subsided a little. He gripped his brother underneath the arms and grunted as he pulled him up and turned him over so Dean's head rested in the crook of his arm and his back was supported on his lap.

Dean sighed a little and Sam smiled as he smacked his lips and turned his head towards Sam's body. He wasn't hurt all that bad, Sam decided. He felt Dean down for further wounds and was satisfied to find none, so he decided it was time for Dean to come back to the real world. The longer out the worse.

He shook Dean a little where he was lying in his arms.

"Dean," he said softly, "Dean, time to wake up, buddy."

Sam watched as Dean's eyes moved under his lids and he tossed his head weakly away from Sam.

"Dean, c'mon," he gave him another shake, "Time to come back to me, man."

A low groan slipped from between Dean's slightly parted lips, and Sam watched as his lashes fluttered on his cheeks and then those remarkable green eyes squinted up at him.

"That's it, open up those eyes for me Dean," And Dean moaned again as he shifted in Sam's arms, ''I'm here." Sam said comfortingly.

Dean could feel himself floating back to consciousness, back from an uneasy void. And wow, everything hurt, and not just his body. Everything came rushing back to his mind as if it had been magnified. the darkness, Crowley, Sam's visions. And that weird tie he felt with Amara that was disturbing him beyond all measure. And what if what she said about them was true, were they bound together? Was it really his fault she was here? If that was his fault everything else was his fault too. Those people who had died because of the virus, Sam's visions. And and it didn't stop there, there was so much death to find blame for before the mark was even removed.

The Stynes he had slaughtered, Rudy was dead, and oh god, Charlie.

He didn't know how, or even why but his mind was working over drive, scenes from the past were flashing past his vision turbo fast. The moment when he realized his brother had been lying to him, when he realized Charlie was involved. The sinking feeling in his stomach, when Styne was gone and Charlie was held up in some hotel room with world's wimpiest lock between her and a ruthless killer...all to save him...to try to save him.

And then he saw her. Her broken, bleeding, lifeless body dumped carelessly in a bath tub like a worthless carcass. He'd picked her up, carried her home in his beloved car, help clean her beautiful, pale skin and then wrap her in white and place her on the pyre to give her an honorable hunter's death.

What followed was to Dean dismay scenes of people that had died, because of him or for him. He couldn't control it, he couldn't stop it. He fought viciously for it to stop as he saw Bobby and Jo and Ellen where they had died, his father flashed before him, his mother smiled at him coldly from the ceiling as she burned. The thumping in his head increased in time with his heart beat, he could no longer feel air coming in, it felt like a boulder was sitting on his chest.

Then he saw Sam.

"You wanna know what I confessed in there? My greatest sin? It was how many times I let you down!"

Sam had almost died, had been dying, Dean had barely stopped him. There stood his little brother telling him he was willing to die to rid the world of all demonic sons of bitches, to rid Dean of the burden of his little brother.

What kind of person was he, that he had that kind of effect on people? Everyone he was ever around had at some point been ready and willing to sacrifice their lives for his, and most had. Sam had jumped into the cage to stop the apocalypse, but let's face it the real reason was because Dean had been ready to end it all and say yes to Michael so that he wouldn't have to see yes to Lucifer.

He wasn't worth that, he wasn't worth all those people's sacrifices. And it hurt, it hurt so much, on top of everything else. The pounding of his head, the longing for another life, the ache that spoke of so much sacrifice with no return.

And god, as the panic descended on him all he wanted was that sweet feeling of bliss Amara had brought him, her velvety protection from pain, the ignorance of anything besides just the perfection of feeling nothing. It was like knocking on heaven's door and then actually getting an answer and being let in.

And now there were dark spots dancing in front of his and he couldn't draw breath and...everything was so loud, and everything hurt so much, and...he NEEDED Amara's presence back or...

A vision of Charlie standing in front of him flashed by his eyes.

"What are you doing here, Charlie?"

"Running away from all my problems."

"I love you." She had said, with that light in her eyes that reflected the light of her soul.

"I know." He had said, too insecure to return the simple phrase. It would just come to stab him in the back, he had thought. And he was right, because now as he looked back at the moment, his hurt broke that he hadn't told her the truth, that she had stolen his heart and he loved her just as much as Sam and Cas and he could never let her go and please don't leave...

And for whatever reason the absence of Amara's presence had broken down the walls he had built between him and the heartache he felt for the lose of his sweet girl. Now he was faced with an overwhelming sea of pain and guilt, and he wasn't used to dealing with his problems. Usually he just shut them up until the ache subsided and then he learned to deal with the guilt. This was not that.

This was coming face to face with fresh, ripe grief. He can still feel her blood on his hands, closing her eyes, wrapping that piece of white cloth over them forever. Covering up those windows into the most beautiful soul he had ever known...and being responsible for it.

It broke Dean Winchester in a way he had never been broken. It gave him the strength to carry out the threat of revenge he had never had the guts to act upon. It hurt, like nothing had hurt since he got the mark. It actually pained his darkening soul, and now that the mark was gone, and Amara's absence had brought him face to face with it...he wasn't prepared to face this kind of emotion.

As he was racing towards the hurt and pain in himself, he was scared, he was panicking. He couldn't fight against this...this was why feeling scared him so bad. It was uncontrollable, he couldn't draw the line and say "Enough!" Charlie was gone forever and he had to deal...

Sam smiled as Dean's eyes fluttered open and he had prepared himself for the usual snarky comment about being held in his LITTLE brother's arms. But it never came. He watched as Dean's eyes nervously shot over the room as if watching something Sam couldn't see. Just in case, he glanced over his shoulder and spotted nothing.

He returned his attention back to Dean and watched in shock as his brother began to ever so slightly jerk in his arms and his breaths became short and fast, with whispered, unintelligible, pained words. His hands hovered helplessly over Dean's body as he began to shudder, but it wasn't until Dean's lips slowly tinted blue that Sam realized this was a full blown panic attack.

"Dean, you need to calm down," he said firmly, giving Dean an even firmer shake. Dean made no reaction, in fact he didn't even seem to know Sam was there.

Another miserable whimper passed Dean's lips and Sam watched as his pupils broadened until there was only a thing ring of green left in his brothers eyes. His lips were tinted dark blue, nearly purple, breaths coming erratic and shallow. Sam was actually starting to worry.

Dean had had several panic attacks after hell and purgatory but he'd always managed to bring himself out of them, realize what was real and what wasn't. Sam had held his breath each time, and had given his brother a few shakes to help ground him. But this time he was literally wrapped around his brother's body and nothing was happening.

"Dean!" He yelled, as Dean's body began to convulse with lack of air, he shook Dean as hard as he could and tapped on his cheek.

"Dean, come on back, its all good, Dean!"

Dean's eyes began to roll back in his head and Sam felt that helpless fear he hated so much, that he had felt so often, he was going to lose his brother.

"You son of a bitch," he growled, "You make me give you mouth to mouth I will bring you back just to kick your ass afterwards." Sam gave a resounding slap to his brother's cheek.

"C'mon Dean, c'mon." He pleaded, and at the sharp impact of his palm to Dean's face, Dean inhaled a huge breath, his eyes shot open where they had closed. He coughed as his breaths came uncontrollably fast.

Sam almost sobbed in relief, "Yes, yes," he breathed, "Come on back to me, Dean." He pulled Dean up closer to him and cupped his cheek to bring his eyes to meet his.

He smiled into Dean's eyes, "That's good, Dean," he pulled one of Dean's hands up and placed it on his own chest, "Breathe with me, big brother, big breaths."

Dean's eyes were coming back into focus, Sam watched as they went from looking through him to focusing on his face, and his presence registering. Sam could have cried, he'd never seen anything look so good.

"Slow breaths," he said softly, and as Dean followed suit he encouraged, "That's it, that's good."

"S'm," Dean rasped up at him, his eyes suddenly holding such pain Sam was surprised.

"Shsh, Dean," he whispered, shaking his head, "Don't talk yet, just breathe for me, kay?"

Dean coughs hoarsely, the following breaths sounding hollow. "H'rts." He whispers.

Sam peels the layers of clothes away from Dean's upper body until just his t-shirt is left and lays one of his big hands on Dean's chest and rubs methodically.

"That feels better, yeah?" He asks, smiling at Dean's still glazed eyes. "Yeah," he confirms, fingers going through Dean's hair to rid it of a few shards of glass.

"H'rts," Dean gets out again, "All hurts."

"I know," Sam soothed, "Its okay, it'll be better in a bit, I promise."

Dean seemed to calm a little at that, and Sam kept soothing fingers running through Dean's hair. Dean's eyes drifted shut, and Sam felt as though he had calmed considerably. That whatever emotions had attacked Dean had been chased away by his presence.

If Sam hadn't look down at that exact moment he wouldn't have ever noticed. But a tear leaked from in between Dean's shut eyelids and ran down te side of his face and into his hair line, one leaked form the other side too, Sam thumbed it away as gently as he could.

"Hey," he whispered, "What's up? Dean. What is it?"

"H'rts," he mumbled again.

Sam scanned over his brother's body again searching for wounds, "What? What hurts Dean?"

"Everything," he coughs out hoarsely, "It all h'rts so much." More tears streak down Dean's face as his body bows forward with the force of his cough. "Why's it h'rt s'much, S'm?" He questions in nearly barely understandable voice wrecked by tears and coughs. He buries his face in Sam's coat, and one hand finally finds enough strength to clench a fist around Sam's hem.

"I, I don't understand," Sam stammers out, nearly over taken himself with the evident pain his brother was going through. "I don't understand Dean," he says trying to get a look at his brother's hidden face, "What is it?"

"Charlie." And after that one word the sob finally breaks from Dean, and it chokes out of his throat and his body is wracked by the mourning sobs for his friend.

The world stops around Sam. His heat is bruised and broken, but now it is all bought to light, they had never talked about Charlie, not a word. At his brother's broken tone and wrenching sobs Sam's eyes close as if he can stop the words fro, crossing his bother's lips.

Please no, he pleads, Dean please don't blame yourself, please don't think about it. Its what he wants to tell his brother. But no words come out, his own tears are blocking his speech. One betrays him and falls down his cheek so he hugs Dean closer to him and buries his face in Dean's neck.

From there he has always hidden from life's worst things. This is the place all his life he always hidden and when he came out his problems were always dealt with. Because if he came to Dean and hid from it in the juncture between his shoulder and his neck Dean would always take care of it and coax him out when it was over. And when he comes out and finds the sun shining again he shakes his fist at life and dares her to bring it on.

As a child he never noticed the wounds Dean bore as a result. But now he knew that Dean paid the price when he couldn't deal with his problems anymore. He had born bruises from his father, he had dropped out of school so Sam could go on, he had given up his life.

(Sam still remembers that rainy night. He felt Jake's knife tear into his body, and then Dean had been there. His face had been guided by a hand at the back of his head to that place on Dean's shoulder and he had rested it there knowing that when he woke up Dean would have taken care of everything.)

He knows now, he can't retreat there for good. Dean is in no condition to deal with their problems. He needed Sam to deal with this, he was coming to Sam, telling him what was wrong.

Everything hurts, he said.

Why Sam? he asked.

And this one was on Sam. 100% on Sam, like usual Dean had told him not to do something, and like usual he was right. His gut feeling was always right, Sam had often though he had to have a six sense. But Sam wasn't one to touch the oven once and then learn, oh no. Winchester's never learned, they were too stubborn. They'd all be lucky if Sam ever learned that Dean knew what the freak he was talking about.

And now, as usual, Dean was paying the price of Sam's mistakes. Trying to clean up his mess, facing the darkness alone, and that somehow had triggered this. And Sam couldn't explain how much he hated knowing that he caused his brother pain. As Dean lay in his arms, shudders turning into weak shivers, his glazed over eyes clearing while reflecting the pain in his body and soul, Sam knew he had to make this better.

If he ever had to make something right this was it.

Dean felt Sam's strong arms wrap around him and pull him close, he also felt the hitch in his chest against his face. He wanted to pull it together, he wanted to go back and not say anything about Charlie, but this was overwhelming.

He NEEDED Amara back, needed that blissful ignorance again, when she left it had broken down all his walls, he lay exposed and defenseless at the mercy of all his pent up emotions. He didn't know what to do, he had never felt this before. So he hid in the one thing he trusted almost as much as himself.

Sam.

And Sam was THERE.

It hadn't always been that way. Used to be Sam wasn't there when he needed him, in the past he couldn't count on Sam. But now he could, now Sam was his brother in arms, his rock in the storm, the object in his life that kept him sane. So as he was attacked by confusing feelings in his head he clung to Sam, buried his face there in Sam's coat trying to hide from the nightmare in his mind. And even as the agony tore at him mentally, the feeling of Sam close to him was assuring, his smell was familiar and stabilizing. His arms wrapped around him, and his face buried in his shoulder was right.

He remembered the times he had held Charlie close like this, her tiny body in his arms, weak enough for him to break with a flex of his muscles...he remembered holding her face in between his hands and seeing the trust and love in her eyes, feeling the life and energy in her body...he remembered the last time he had held her. Her body stiff and lifeless, her lovely features covered by cheap white sheets he had stripped to wrap her in.

Sam is close to him now, body buzzing with energy and life, and oh god, what was it he had said? I think it should be you up there, not Charlie. How could he have said that? How could he have thought that?

Now matter how much it hurt that Charlie was gone, no matter how unjust her death Dean couldn't, hadn't been able to wish that it was Sam. And he had felt death in Sam before, carried him into that abandoned house and lay his brother's body on that old bed and known there was nothing in there anymore. That this vessel that had once held a life meant nothing to anyone anymore but him. And it made Dean feel so guilty...so unworthy of her trust and love. That he couldn't be sorry it was her, and be so thankful that it wasn't Sam.

So Dean gets his arms around Sam's torso and squeezes as hard as he can. Pulls himself as close as he can to Sam's beating heart, presses his ear over his chest and allows the life rhythm to evade his senses, all his senses. To block out the thumping of his own blood in his head, the pain in his heart, the panic and insecurity. Hides his streaming, burning eyes from sight in Sam's chest, where there is no judgement.

He feels his brother grip the back of his head with a ridiculously large hand and press him closer, his arms squeeze tighter, returning Dean's already constricting embrace. Breathing is still painful, still feels like he's getting no oxygen, but he tries to take big mouthfuls of Sam-scented air and forces it down his throat and into his body where it burns and makes him splutter and cough. He feels Sam's other big paw land on his back where it pats a few times and then rubs consolingly. And he wonders briefly as he feels Sam hiccup who exactly his brother is comforting?

Sam took a few more calming breaths while inhaling that heady smell of leather and after shave that Dean always smelled so distinctly of. He knew they had to talk about this. This was weird, even weird for them. Dean was crying in his arms, Dean was mourning Charlie...mourning, healthily.

Well Sam, couldn't say how healthy mourning was, but it was positively VERY unhealthy to go Dean's usual route. The standard shut up emotions, holding in all the pain and guilt, letting it all out in alcoholism and violence. But now as he felt Dean shudder against him, felt the damp seeping through his shirt from his tears, he wonders if maybe Dean knew all along what they needed.

If Sam had to do this every single time someone they knew died he would have broken down. He knows why Dean keeps everything so close and shut in now, its to protect him. The no chic flick rule wasn't the reflection of a man with no feelings, rather of one with so many he was scared of hurting the people around him when they came out.

And here was what it was like. Dean hyperventilating, almost dying, tears, hurt, guilt. It was all ugly and writhing out in the open now. It was one thing to know what was inside his brother, it was another thing entirely to see it. To know about the guilt and self-worth, was entirely different from seeing the proof of it in the way Dean tried to hide in Sam from his own emotions, in the way the sobs choked from his strong body rendering it helpless.

And Sam couldn't imagine the pain that laced through his brother right now. He had never seen Dean get so close to someone other than Bobby in the long years they had hunted together as he had gotten with Charlie. The light that danced in Dean's eyes only when they had landed on Sam and no one else had shone proudly as he smiled at Charlie. She could make him smile, make him forgive himself, make him see sense like no other person Sam had ever met.

From what he had seen they were more open with each other than anyone else. Theirs was a relationship unmarred by work, by bitterness, by lies. And Sam had taken that, he had done it for Dean, but really? He had taken that preciousness away from Dean, and now he watched the relapse.

He had watched as Dean crumbled silently beside her funeral pyre. Saw the pure heart break shine though the angry haze cast by the mark.

Dean had looked at him and said, "I think it should be you up there."

But he hadn't killed Sam like the mark wanted, he had gone after the Stynes. And Sam couldn't imagine the heart break that fueled that much resistance. What was the pain that had pushed Dean to the edge, that had forced his hand? Had made his exile and Sam's death look good?

It was losing Charlie.

It was this revelation of the pain his brother was experiencing that broke Sam. He couldn't imagine how much hurt it would take to break Dean Winchester to the point of wanting his little brother, Sammy Winchester, dead instead.

There as no bitter jealously, just sorrow. There was this deep aching sorrow that he had caused this. That Dean had finally been pushed to his limit, that there was a limit to the love and devotion Sam had always been the recieptitent of.

And that was what forced the tears out of Sam finally, forced the burning sobs from his throat. A part of them was over and dead. They welcomed a sweet innocent girl into their family to be their sister, and Sam had endangered her and killed her. There was now way they would ever come back from this full strength.

So he kept his face hidden in Dean's neck and cried with him. Feeling guilty for not mourning Charlie with his brother, but he couldn't help the heart ache. The fear that when he came out from the tried and true hiding spot he'd be thrown out of it forever. That Dean would mourn her and come up with the same explanation that Sam had...he was no longer to be trusted. That Sam had crossed the final line.

So he holds onto Dean like its the last time, tries to memorize the feeling, the familiar presence of his big brother like its the last time. Relishes in the feeling of being trusted enough to hold him and comfort him. Sam knows they can't afford him panicking too, no matter how much he wants to, so he takes big calming breaths against Dean's jacket.

Dean revels in the safety of his brother's arms, he hides from his own warped feelings there, cowers from the judgment his own mind passes down on him. In Sam's arms not regretting Charlie makes sense. Doesn't hurt like it should. And he finds himself forgetting Amara and her aphrodisiac effect on him, he begins to cling to the fact that Sam is with him. That he didn't lose him like THEY had lost Charlie.

He finds himself getting worked up again at how close he came to doing just that, and guilt at his condemning words at her funeral. He regretted those words, he regretted sacrificing him to Death, regretted leaving him at that hospital, regretted every time he put him in danger. He couldn't even wrap his mind around how precious Sam was to him.

And he is just so thankful that after all the INCREDIBLY close calls Sam's had that he still has him here, alive, trembling and crying in his arms. So many times he'd come so close to losing him...

Sam was lost in his thoughts, but when he felt Dean's breathing speed up again against his chest his attention snapped back. They can't make it through another panic attack. Dean doesn't have enough energy to go through that again, Sam will fall apart if he has to watch Dean pass out again from lack of air.

His arms pull Dean away from his body and his hand lands heavily on his chest pressing down reassuringly. He takes Dean's chin in his free hand and forces him to turn his face towards his. Tears streak Dean's pale skin glistening over his freckles, his eyes are beginning to dilate again, breath escaping raspily from his throat.

"Dean, calm down," he says, trying to sound firm, but voice cracking.

Dean's eyes desperately latch onto him and Sam manages a tremulous smile, "Just keep your eyes on me, Dean, I'm here, I got you."

Dean does his best to slow the frantic heaving that is soon going to kill him.

"That's good, Dean," Sam encourages, hand loosening on Dean's face and a gentle thumb rubbing over his cheek bone, "You're doing great."

Dean closed his eyes, but immediately found he needed the sight of Sam leaning over him, hopefully awaiting his return to his usual composure to inspire him to keep trying. He tried to make his breaths as deep as possible and coughed through most of them.

Sam frowned and gently got both hands under him. "Let's get you up," he says, and pulls Dean up right and then lays his back against his chest and guides Dean's head to rest on his shoulder with a hand.

"That's better, yeah?" He asks, a hand on Dean's chest pressing him securely to him. "Dean?" He leans forward a little to get a glimpse of Dean's face, "You with me, bro?"

Dean grunts and Sam's breath catches as a hand comes to cover the one he has on Dean's chest. This was not what he was expecting. He closes his eyes in relief...but maybe Dean wasn't trying keep him close, maybe he was trying to wrench his hand away, to escape, to get away from him. Away from the man who got Charlie killed.

"S'm," Dean slurs out.

"Dean," he interrupts, in as even a tone as he can manage. "Let me just say I'm sorry about Charlie, I..." he falters and passes a trembling hand over his still wet face. "...I know you can never forgive me but, I am sorry, so sorry, I never meant to hut her, I never wanted to hurt her, never wanted to hurt YOU." Sam's voice finally breaks and he closes his eyes and lets his chin fall to Dean's shoulder in front of him.

"I just," he voice breaks again, as tears begin to fall again, "I couldn't loose you, Dean, I just couldn't, I'm sorry I just..." he bites his lip and keeps his eyes closed to block out what he knows must be Dean's disgusted expression.

He feels a hand slip up and cup the side of his neck, Dean turns his head and brings Sam's down and presses his temple to Sam's forehead.

"S'lright, S'mmy," he hears him whisper, "S'lright, I kno'."

"Wasn't yu'r fault," he adds and wraps his arm around the one Sam has around him.

A sob escapes Sam as a way of answer. And Dean's head falls back exhaustedly to Sam's shoulder.

"I know," he says again, staring up at the ceiling. "No matter how hard I try, I can't," he whispers, "I can't be sorry it was Charlie."

Sam freezes, "What?" He whispers in answer.

"It hurts so much, makes me so damn guilty, that I'm glad it was her." Dean says, hacking weakly after speaking.

"What, Why?" Sam asks, a little sharply, he lifts his head and glances over at his brother's face resting on his shoulder, face upturned.

"Because no matter what I said, Sam, what would I have down if it was you up there, Sam, if I had lost you?"

Sam shakes his head wordlessly.

Dean shuts his eyes and a tear cascades down his face.

"What is this world and a thousand Charlies mean to me with out you, S'mmy?" He whispers.

Sam's tears follow Dean's down, "And it hurts, Sam, but what can I do?"

More tears fall down Dean's face, sobs bring his head forward and he grips Sam's arm tightly, "It huts that apparently she means so little to me, it hurts that saving the world has no impact on me. But what can I do, Sam?"

Sam shakes his head again and Dean grips his arm tighter, pulling on it insistently, "Tell me what to do, Sammy? You're all that's left, everything else I've given up for you, so tell me what to do Sam? I've got you, got what I wanted, but it still hurts, it all hurts! So tell me what to do, Sam!"

Uncontrollable sobs escape Dean's mouth, making breathing harder than ever, "Tell me what to do, S'mmy," he begs, head falling back to his shoulder and face pressing into Sam's neck, "Please." He mumbles.

Sam bites his lip trying to keep the pain in, trying to keep the tears back, to choke back his own sobs, to be the rock in Dean's storm. Sam hides his face in Dean's hair behind his ear. His arms wrap around Dean's shaking body to keep him close. He listens to Dean's breathing in his ear, laboring and harsh, desperately hiccuping for breath.

"Please," he whispers to Sam one last time.

PLEASE LEAVE ME REVIEWS!

thank you


End file.
